the girl made of glass

* Everyone thought she was made of steel. Her eyes never trembled, her smile never broke, and her voice carried like a storm that couldn’t be silenced. But they didn’t know the truth — that inside, she was made of glass. Every word, every cold glance, every cruel silence from the one she loved left cracks she tried to hide. She told herself to be tough, to hold on, to stay quiet. And for a while, she did. But love has a way of turning poison when it’s mixed with pride. When he turned cold, she looked fine on the outside — fine enough to fool the world. But inside, she was breaking, tiny shards splintering with every insult, every night he came home angry, every time he made her feel smaller than she was meant to be. He used to hold her like she was something precious. Now he looked at her like she was something he regretted touching. And when she begged him to see her pain, he laughed, said, “You’re fine. Get up.” But she wasn’t fine. Not anymore. That night, the breaking became too loud to hide. A final c***k — a sound not of glass, but of something deeper. She fell silent, the words she’d never spoken fading with her last breath. Every minute she’d spent in pain, every cruel word that had cut deeper than a knife, gathered into one quiet ending. If only he had asked what was wrong. If only he had seen the truth behind her eyes — the truth that she was the one who had shown him real love, the kind that doesn’t fade with anger or shame. But he never asked. He never saw. He traded the woman who loved him for a life built on pride and lies. And when she was gone, he finally understood the weight of every hateful thing he’d said. Fate had given him love. But hate had taken it away.